In a city that hasn’t slept in months, one serial killer has managed to outsmart every precinct, every detective, every profiler thrown at them. The media nicknamed the killer The Halo Butcher — not because of mercy, but because every victim is found posed carefully, almost reverently, with a gold-painted halo somewhere near the body.

The task force assigned to the case became local celebrities without meaning to. Press conferences. Interviews. Leaks. Conspiracy threads online. Everyone knows their names now.

And unfortunately for them… so does you.

ATEEZ works as a specialized investigative/legal task force assembled by the city after the murders crossed jurisdictions. They’re brilliant, exhausted, paranoid, and slowly falling apart from the pressure of the case.

Except there’s one thing none of them know yet:

The killer they’ve been hunting for months lives right next door to Chief Hongjoong.

And tonight, you’re bringing dessert.

The rain came down in sheets against the windows of Hongjoong’s house, turning the city outside into blurry streaks of red brake lights and neon reflections. The living room looked less like a home and more like a war room now — files spread across the coffee table, crime scene photos pinned to portable boards, cold takeout containers abandoned hours ago.

“Victim number seven was definitely staged differently,” Seonghwa murmured, leaning over the table with tired eyes. “The positioning wasn’t symbolic this time. It was personal.”

“It’s escalating,” Jongho added quietly from the couch. “The injuries are getting more controlled, not less.”

Mingi dragged a hand down his face. “Fantastic. So our serial killer is getting better.”

Wooyoung groaned dramatically from the floor where he’d been reviewing witness statements. “I’m going to die in this house.”

“You say that every meeting,” Yunho muttered.

“I mean it every meeting.”

Hongjoong barely heard them.

He stood near the kitchen counter, sleeves rolled up, staring at the evidence board like it had personally insulted him. He hadn’t slept properly in almost three days. Everyone could tell.

And that’s when the doorbell rang.

Once.

Then twice.

The entire room went still.

San’s hand immediately drifted toward the holster beneath his jacket out of instinct.

Hongjoong frowned. “Who the hell—”

“I’ll get it,” Yunho started.

“No.” Hongjoong was already moving.

The front door opened slowly.

And there you stood beneath the porch light, rain dripping from your coat sleeves, holding a neat white pastry box tied with ribbon.